The Burden
by Chris000
Summary: On the battlefield, truth is as deadly a weapon as bullet and shell. To a soldier, truth can save a man's life, or damn him to confusion. Truth, like command is a burden that must be born with caution. A rescue operation in the dead of night for two men tests a sergeant to see if he can bear truth in the future, or fumble in the present. One-shot Chaos Chronicles universe story.


The Burden

April 6, 3233  
Talahan V, Eta Cassiopeiae A

"3-Charlie-3, Overlord. Requesting SITREP."

"Overlord, 3-Charlie-3, FT-Bravo is en route to waypoint heading one-niner degrees. Will reconfer when we reach POI."

The young sergeant known as Templar tapped his earpiece as he looked out over the dark tangle of gentle bushes. In the waning moonlight of one of Talahan V's natural satellites, he could make out barely the figures of housing out perhaps a half-mile away. Even now, the moon was slowly setting, which would rob the Kawaduza Grassplains of whatever visibility it had left. He checked the rate of descent on the satellite. At this rate, the grassplains would be plunged into darkness within fourteen or fifteen minutes. Good. If they moved slowly, they would come to the buildings just as their cover rolled in.

Templar looked at his three men. Benedict had realized that the four men had worked together well. Corporals Romano and Shepard were at his flanks, all of them armed with short barreled MA20 carbines. Blocky Hushpuppy MarkII suppressors were screwed on with infrared lasers on the side rails. In addition, suppressed MK6A sidearms were sitting in their holsters. All were loaded with subsonic ammunition. If they played their cards right, they wouldn't need to use any of them. Well, technically, the three forward units wouldn't.

Templar tapped his helmet headset again, switching to SQUADCOM. "Silent, do you have a visual on us?"

"Affirmative." Jeff Winston said. "Five hundred meters away and through a crosswind."

Though his BCT callsign had been "Foghorn", in the field, Winston's silence was indeed golden. He was an accomplished marksman who turned down First Force Recon to stay with his unit in Fratelli. To Templar's knowledge, very few had actually had the balls to turn down FORCON. The joke had been that Winston could sense the air currents just by sniffing them. Considering the shit the sniper had pulled off, he was inclined to believe it.

"Where you at, Winston?" Templar asked, looking back briefly. He saw the sniper's waypoint in his Heads-Up-Display, though he didn't know the man's exact position.

"Somewhere." The sniper said.

Content knowing their backs were being watched, Templar checked his watch. It was after 2 AM local time. The operation needed to commence.

"Hand-signals only." The sergeant said. "Go dark."

Shepard and Romano made sure all of their displays were off. To an observer, the field would seem quite dark. Kawaduza Grassplains was notable for its high grass, reaching as high as three feet in areas. The grass was abrasive on skin, but the Marines had very little of it exposed. Jungle BDUs camouflaged them in the night, the earthy tones of the uniform being magnified in the low light. Clamped on to everyone's helmets was a pair of ArcLite 22 night vision goggles. It was still too light for them to use. They needed absolute darkness.

The moon in the sky had a higher albedo than Luna did back home on Earth. It was covered in vast fields of frozen gas that reflected the binary light of Eta Cassiopeia. It was brighter than a full moon now. They just needed to wait a few more moments. Right now though, they could advance low to the ground. Their heads were the only thing that was above the height of the grass blades. Spindle flowers common to this area of the region poked up every now and again. The thin and flexible flowers were like straws, waving in the light night wind. Their petals were extended, basking in the light of the moon. The instant it started to sink behind the incredibly large mangroves, the petals started to close up. After a few more minutes the flowers started to seal up. Unlike the flowers, the Marines would benefit from this void.

They reached their waypoint a scant three hundred feet from the buildings. Templar held up a balled fist with his left hand, weapon still pointed downrange. Everybody stopped. They were right where they needed to be. He simply tapped his helmet's communicator twice. A slight chirp sounded in his headset to confirm that he had signaled that his team had reached the objective. He waited a second before Overlord came over the helmet's speakers.

"3-Charlie-3, Overlord copies signal All-Clear. Stand by for additional updates."

Silence. The moon dipped further in the west. Now would be a good time to light up. He glanced up at the sky very quickly. There were millions of stars up there. Several bright ones formed alien constellations that the people of Talahan V called their own. He wondered if he could pick out where Sol was here. It would be visible for sure.

He saw that another star was moving quickly across the sky, relatively speaking. Templar knew what it was – a supercarrier known as _Indomitable_. It was supposed to be a monster, five kilometers in length. He had never seen it; he had been groundside for much of his time in-system. She was a _Ruthless-_ class supercarrier, whatever that meant. She was also coordinating tonight's rescue operation.

"3-Charlie-3, Overlord. _Indomitable_ is passing over local airspace. Be advised we will lose visual in approximately seven minutes; will maintain radio contact and proxy visibility, please acknowledge."

Another two taps from Templar's headset.

"Understood, 3-Charlie-3. Direct Imaging has pinged location of target within the logging complex. Vitals have been confirmed but we are unable to establish positive ID. Orders are to make contact with objective and identify. Good luck, 3-Charlie, Overlord out."

The radio snapped off. Templar placed two fingers above his helmet and drew them down to his eyes. Time to go to work. He grabbed the goggles and lowered them in front of his visor. The slightly oblong lenses allowed him to see in a wider visual range. The night turned into various shades of green. In addition, he could see his squadmates as orange splotches with a flat matte circle hovering over them, tagging them as friendlies.

"3-Charlie-3, 3-Charlie-12," Winston chimed in from his perch. "Switching to green. Still got you guys pegged. Coast is clear."

Templar nodded, and after a quick check of his weapon to make sure it was loaded, sliced forward in the air with an open palm. Advance.

The three men moved like revenants in the tall grass, completely silent save for only the slightest of noses of disturbed grass. An attentive guard may have noticed noise being made, but may have attributed it to a small animal incredibly common to the area. Earth animals such as capybaras and ocelots had taken well to the jungle, and had ingrained themselves well into the local wildlife. Even animals native to the planet such as the vaguely otter-like tree-dwelling marsupial with a prehensile tail known as a dotsilara was not unheard of on the forest floor. Regardless, nobody watched their approach. This outpost, a repurposed mining encampment retrofitted into a makeshift barracks, was far removed from the fighting. The closest front was almost two hundred miles away.

In modern combat, getting behind enemy lines was far easier than any time in human history. Getting out was considerably harder. Already they had considered exfil routes before even arriving into the field.

They reached the outer border of the encampment. It would not be an easy advance from here. The grass had thinned out, and any natural cover had been stripped away years ago by the loggers that had called this place home. The prior owners of the camp's logo was written in local script that Templar read as Wendiltyn Resource Management. It was splayed on the walls, though was accompanied by Talahase graffiti and propaganda pieces.

In front of one of the buildings was a single guard, smoking a cigarette. He was on active duty due to the fact that he carried a rusty rifle in his hands. The gun was in poor condition from what Templar could see, with a rusty upper receiver and scraped up grips. In addition, half his front sight was gone. The Marine doubted that the man could shoot straight even if he did spot the infiltration team.

Regardless, he would not get that opportunity. He ordered his men to check their gazes to the left or the right, watching the channels through which a hostile could come. Romano took the left and Shepard the right. Templar himself set one of his elbows on his knee and took aim. The light of the camp would work in his favor. While the Marines could see in, it was a bit more difficult to see out into the dark.

Templar took into account that he was less than a hundred yards away now. It was a doable shot, easily, but he was concerned with the muzzle velocity of his bullet, which would strike the target in roughly three tenths of a second. He wondered if it would be too fast to be stopped by the tissue of the guard.

He decided to take the risk and clicked the safety off. He shouldered the gun, aimed directly for the center of the target, and pulled the trigger.

At one hundred meters, the report issued from the subsonic round, dampened by the suppressor, should have been inaudible to the target. To the Marine, it sounded like someone firing a nailgun. A moment later, the guard toppled forward without uttering a cry, falling into shock. Templar breathed a silent sigh of relief. He did not see any blood on the wall, which meant that the bullet had not penetrated completely. Good. That would help them.

Templar went forward with his squadmates at his sides, making one hundred meters as best they could while still remaining silent. With speed and technical prowess, he came up to the body, noticing that blood was still pumping from a rapidly beating heart. The man wasn't dead yet, but was in shock or was possibly unconscious at this time. He thought nothing of it as he pulled the rebel into the high grass, invisible to the others should they come to look. Satisfied that the neutralized target was aptly hidden, he returned to the grass, only a mere ten meters from the closest building. His men had followed him here, waiting for orders.

He called up the map on his HUD by manipulating controls on his arm. An augmented reality overlay was projected in front of him, invisible to the rest of the world. Even with his night vision on, he was able to see it in perfect clarity as it color-corrected itself to a bright white-green to clearly distinguish itself from the rest of the world.

The camp was roughly semicircular, built kiva-style, similar to settlements found in the Epsilon Eridani system. These settlements had the house as one semi-circle, and a barn or garage on the other side. However, this setup was wholly commercial, with a house being replaced by lodging for workers, now militants, and the storage initially meant for kukaso tree lumber instead storing weapons and ammunition. A recon flight conducted two days prior had revealed that a technical had been parked in the garage – a far cry from the logging trucks usually there.

That same flight had determined that almost two dozen men had called this camp home – which had the men outnumbered eight to one, excluding Winston. They would need to proceed with caution. Thankfully, the same flight had also revealed that only two of the heat signatures in the camp had the tell-tale strobe of UEG Bloodstream Transponders, which was a quick way to distinguish friend versus foe. It was those transponders that reacted with every beat of the Marines' hearts. It was such a simple invention that allowed units to locate others, and find injured men with elevated pulse. Right now, the twin transponders were regular, roughly one pulse a second, indicating that the men were calm, despite their incarceration.

Templar ordered the men to round the camp, staying low to the grass with weapons trained on targets the whole time. At ten meters, the whole camp might not hear the shots of their weapons, but a miss would be clearly audible to a potential target, and one alert would possibly lead to the deaths of the men. That would not be allowed to happen.

Two clicks from Romano and Shepard. They had located targets, both of them standing around an area heater. It was of relatively old-fashioned style, using antiquated forms of heating coils instead of directional convection. While cheap heaters had the same form as they always had, they were not encrusted with jungle damp, mud, rust, and weren't prone to spontaneous combustion, much like this unit. Above them, a bug zapper flashed in rapid succession, eliminating a few pests from the night.

One of them laughed in Talahase, a language that Templar had grown to understand in his short time on the planet.

"The short one didn't want to eat." The one on the right said in this language, a mixture of German and Portuguese with a provincial twist to it common to this region of the continent.

"Then he can starve." The one on the left said, obviously senior. He was a good head and a half taller himself with tribal-style tattoos covering his exposed arms. A rusted Krinkov was in the crook of his arm. "We're not here to babysit them, we're here to hand them off."

Babysit. The word didn't translate well to Standard English. It was actually a colloquial term that was closer to 'wrangle', as if kids were little animals.

But the word of a handoff was something that had been considered during the briefing considering the standing of the hostages. The two men were on the move and wouldn't be here for long. There was a reason the technical had been parked. If the men were moved underground, then it was over.

Boring conversation anyway. Templar ordered Romano to target one on the left with Shepard eyeing the one on the right. They each gave thumbs up. Templar held up three fingers. Two. One. He jerked his fist back

Two sharp pops of the guns in unison. A slight Doppler shift happened at the same time as the bullets hit at nearly exactly the same time in center mass. The one on the left crumpled, but the one on the right began to open his mouth. Quickly, Templar snatched the handgun from his holster. His adrenaline spiked, and his heart beat quickened, and through sheer training, willed the world to slow down. The gun was up in a moment, and his finger tightened. Compared to the rifles, the baffle-free suppressor was far better at masking the shot, mainly because the bullet travelled slower in comparison, a measly 800 feet a second. To compensate for lower speed, the bullet had a sharper point to aid in penetration. To Templar, the gunshot was silent. He only heard his own breathing, and even then, it was muffled. His mind had blocked everything nonessential out.

The rebel's head jerked back as the bullet passed through, breaking apart on the concrete behind him in a slight whistle.

Templar cursed out loud. Immediately, Romano and Shepard ran forward to grab the bodies and drag them into the grass. Not a moment too soon. Just after the two Marines had settled into position, another shape came from around the corner – a rebel of very large stature and dark complexion, skin glistening in the humidity. His eyes were dark and furrowed in obvious confusion about the noise that he had just heard.

Templar and his men held their breaths.

"Got him." Winston said over the COM. "Seven hundred meters out. 3-Charlie-3, I can take the shot."

A quick red light in the TEAMCOM. Silent needed to exercise trigger discipline for as long as it took.

"Acknowledged. 3-Charlie-12 holding fire." Winston said before signing off.

The rebel took a quick look around. Hidden behind one of the support ribbings of the structure was a fresco of blood and grey matter. If the rebel took a few more steps forward and looked to the right, the alarm would be raised, and the mission scrubbed.

Or… they could go loud. Four hostiles down would improve their odds of survival. The Marines did have the advantage by being in the grass. The dark would conceal them and the difference of lighting between the fires would help keep them hidden all the better. Templar rolled this around in his mind as he bit his lip, thinking long and hard about it. As tempting as it was, he couldn't risk an all-out engagement. Still, this Tallie was a nuisance. He would wait to see what he did. The Sergeant knew that Winston was on standby and he knew that he had adjusted his aim to account for any change in barometric pressure or wind direction, or even the rotation of Talahan V.

That wasn't necessary in the end though. The Tallie had gazed around a little bit, squinted and looked just above and to the left of the Marines, gazing out into the dark grassplains. Somewhere out there, a mournful animal call sounded, catching the man's attention before he turned back into the main settlement.

"3-Charlie-3, Overlord. _Indomitable_ is now exiting AO. Secondary visual established. See you in ninety six minutes; out."

The bright star in the sky that was the supercarrier had disappeared over the horizon. In truth, Templar had forgotten they had an eye in the sky. The fact that they had remained silent was a good thing – there were no problems to report.

The rebel rifleman had disappeared. It was time to move. The building where the targets were being held was on the North, which doubled as an operations area. It was likely a makeshift prison that had been perhaps a vault or filing cabinet room, Templar guessed. As such, it was possibly secluded as its own room, and as such, was probably inaccessible through any way other than the front door.

That made him wince. They had come so far without this sort of issue, and now it was unavoidable. What mattered now was luck. The amount of people inside of the office determined how this would go.

Onward they went, slowly and as stealthily as possible. This was not a time for sudden movements. The insects continued to chirp as Templar led the way to the makeshift prison. There was a main dirt road that led into the encampment. Two deep trenches were pressed into the soft ground with tire treads clearly visible over years of use. They had to cross to make their way to the foreman's office. Templar came to the rounded corner of the building on the left side of the road. The inscriptions indicated it was the camp's mess. He pressed his body against it, glancing back down the way he came, finger still resting on the trigger guard. He raised his palm to his face. Time to stack up and get ready to move. He turned his attention down the road. About fifty feet away, he could see a group of men sitting around a central fireplace, which was common to rebel camps, even though heating coils were available. They numbered around a dozen, which meant the others were asleep. Absentmindedly, Templar wondered if one of the other moons of Talahan V would rise. They wouldn't be much of a problem though given the brightest had set for the night.

Shepard and Romano were behind him. Shepard tapped Templar's shoulder indicating he was ready to move. It looked clear. One swift movement of the left hand. Go.

Shepard stayed low, moving slowly. This was far more effective than sprinting. In the jungle, detection of the enemy through movement was the deciding factor between life and death. Staying low and appearing as far from being a man-sized target as possible would keep them alive. The Human eye could determine just where the head would be. Shepard was in as low a crouch as he could make. If he went prone, he could have been made no matter how low he was. As he crossed, Shepard kept his eyes forward, not looking at the Tallies. He trusted his commander to get his back. He made it across the road, giving the others a quick thumbs up.

Next was Romano. He tapped Templar's shoulder and was ready to go. The sergeant held up his hand, fingers tight together. It wasn't safe for him to go yet. A pair of Tallies had broken away from the fire and made their way to the garage, checking on the truck. Good. That was two pairs less of eyes watching the area. Templar waited a few more seconds and then swept his left hand again. Go.

Sid kept low as Shepard did, but moved quicker. His sergeant did not look at Romano as he crossed the road, just as he had not watched Shepard cross. He knew that the commander's eyes were always down range. That trust extended both ways of course. Templar knew that Romano wasn't going to stop without gazing anywhere but at the target. When he had reached the other side, Romano clicked his acknowledgment light. Templar was the only one left.

The sergeant made a quick glance at the other side of the road and moved.

"Got your back." Winston whispered from his perch.

Templar realized that their sniper was still watching them and smiled to himself. They were a well-oiled machine like that.

He crossed with his weapon pointed forward. He smoothly slid into place, making one more glance around the corner to make sure he hadn't been made. He hadn't. Good. That would make this next bit easier. He had only conducted a few rescues in his time on Talahan V, which constituted his whole military career, and most of them were civilians or key military personnel like this. Why hold these men in a dump like this?

Ah well, 'Ours is not to reason why'.

They had travelled in roughly three quarters around the available cover. They were now right next to the building. Templar's map pegged the men inside. The bloodstream transponders were alight, but still even at sixty-seven beats a minute for one man and seventy-one for the other. They were right on the other side of the wall, which was possibly a foot thick and made out of concrete. They wouldn't be getting through that even with breaching charges if they had them. This had to be quiet.

Templar took one more look at the map and made his way around the side of the building. They were close. He transitioned to his pistol and raised it. His nostrils were flared. He was taking in as much oxygen as he could. He could breathe the peaty smell of the trees and the warm humid air even at this hour. His gun was at eye level, the ghost ring sight ready to be placed over a target. He found it in less than five seconds. He made eye contact with the Tallie standing next to the curved wall of the secondary bunk room. The man's eyes went wide for a minute in surprise before Templar fired twice, each bullet hitting him in the heart, punching through the simple flak jacket. The report of the gun was barely louder than the striker hitting the firing pin, approximately sixty decibels – around the level of casual conversation. The sound of the bullets slamming into the man would be a bit quieter as the flak jacket cushioned some of the sound. Templar grabbed the man as he swooned and threw him face down into the alley. Thinking quickly, he went back to the man, first checking for exit wounds, and then grabbing the sidearm from the man's holster, a cheap Gale Force .40 caliber semi-auto, caked with a light layer of dirt. He slid it into a side pocket and went forward leaping into the room with gun raised. It was called Conditioned Awareness – enhanced tachypsychia enabled at will with sheer training. Sometimes he felt it was triggered involuntarily. He wanted it now though, and his reaction times spiked almost to the point of a supersoldier's. The gun was up and he placed two shots into the guard's chest. The man was wearing a cotton muscle shirt – not nearly enough to stop the pointed subsonic rounds that embedded themselves into the plastered wall. He quickly closed the door, making it seem as if someone had gone inside. That would buy him some time. They had observed the encampment for a day, observing what times guards would rotate. They had a few hours still until the next shift change. Things were going in their favor. If this were a dedicated prison, the shifts would change four times during the thirty hour day with variances in between.

The door was barred, but it wasn't a problem thanks to the key he quickly pulled from the man's pocket. It was a rude thing, cast from iron and hammered into shape. In some ways, a physical key was superior to a mechanical keycard. You couldn't hack something like this. He did not extinguish the light though as it would look suspicious. He slid they key into the lock and turned it. The barred door slid open. He inserted the key again into the wooden door behind it and did the same. He holstered his weapon, looked behind him, and opened the door. Sitting on the floor, cross-legged, but unrestrained, were two men dressed in black boots, cargo pants, and T-shirts. One had dark skin, and the other alabaster white. The former had the name Isaaks, and the other Rolfson. At first, their heads jerked to the door, and for a second they moved back, but as soon as they saw the eagle painted on the chestplate, and for Rolfson, the American flag on the right shoulder, they relaxed immediately.

Templar saw that on their breasts was the all seeing eye of the Office of Naval Intelligence. On their own left shoulders was the Roman numeral three.

Templar flicked up his night vision goggles.

"Sirs." He said in a low voice. "I'm with you."

"Yeah."Rolfson said in a hoarse voice as if he hadn't used it in a while. "Where you from, buddy?"

"What?" Templar asked, momentarily confused.

"Tucson, Arizona." Rolfson said, tapping his own right shoulder- a slightly bloody, but still proud flag. "You?"

"New York." Templar said, grinning slightly. Every now and then, the young Sergeant had seen countrymen out here, but it struck a chord that, while breaking mission protocol, and Rolfson did outrank him by several rungs, it put him at ease. "Been in Chicago for a while too."

He shifted his attention quickly to Isaaks, who bore the flag of Aigburth, one of the countries on the moon Ganymede. "Sir?"

"I'm good." Isaaks said in a baritone voice, which despite his condition, which was roughed up, was steady. "Thanks for stopping by. No flowers?"

"Sorry, the shop was closed." Templar smirked, then got serious. "We don't have much time until a patrol finds those bodies out there. We need to move you now, sirs. Are you OK to walk?"

"I'm fine." Isaaks said at once, slowly raising himself to his feet, standing at an impressive six foot three inches.

However, when Rolfson tried to rise, he gasped in pain, lowering himself back to the ground. Romano whipped around, dropping to one knee, gun at the ready and facing towards the doorway. That little explosive sound could attract attention. Barred as they were, there were still windows in the room.

"Sorry!" Rolfson hissed, grabbing his foot. "Sons of bitches worked my legs!" He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force himself to stand at least. The ONI agent managed to get on his knees, at which his face went nearly pale, blood draining from it.

"Shit, I've got him." Templar said, grabbing the commander and slinging one of the man's arms over his own shoulder. "Lean on me, sir."

Rolfson complied, but not without gritted teeth. "Think I can still move. Hey, you've got a weapon, sergeant?"

Templar reached into the side pocket, retrieving the Gale Force and pressing it into Rolfson's shaking right hand. "Sid, get Commander Isaaks the gun from the guard in the next room."

"Sure, Chris." Romano said, vanishing for a quick second before returning and handing the tall man the handgun butt-first. Isaaks nodded, took the gun, and pulled the slide back far enough to confirm a round was in the chamber. He let it reset, and then came over to help Rolfson further.

"What did they want?" Templar asked. as they slowly made their way to the door.

"Troop locations." Isaaks said in his deep rumble. "Units in the Grasslands and the rat tunnels we've been feeding them false intel about."

"Rat tunnels?" Templar asked.

"That should buy us some time." Isaaks shrugged.

Templar was about to respond when Winston chimed in, "Four contacts heading towards the cell block. Sarge, you need to get out."

"Distance?" the young man asked.

"Estimated twenty meters. Oh hell, they've found one of the bodies.

He began to sweat. "Do you have a shot?"

"Yes." Silent said quickly. "A few shots."

"Fire at will. Keep them suppressed if you can, too."

Templar had stowed his rifle when he had picked Rolfson up. The MK6A was in his hand now - the slender pistol complemented with the equally elegant suppressor. They might still be able to sow some confusion if Winston's help came at the right time. With the gun in one hand, Templar clicked the safety off with his thumb. The hammer was locked back and ready to strike the primer. A forty caliber bullet was ready to spiral out of the barrel.

"Stand by." Winston said.

The men didn't hear the gunshot inside the structure, but outside, the rebels began to scream and shout. Talahase began to call out to each other and soon, a second round of shouting began to permeate the camp.

"That ruffled some feathers. Sarge, two more contacts eliminated. You want to move, this is your chance!"

There was urgency in Winston's voice that wasn't common. The situation was serious. Eventually these guys would put two and two together and would figure that the prisoners would be the target.

"We go out the same way we came. Around the building, but straight into the forest." Templar commanded. "Sirs? Did you see anything coming in?"

"No, they had us bagged." Isaaks said. "First time we saw anything was the inside of this room."

Templar nodded. "Sid, Dean, get that door open and clear a path. You see a Tallie, put him down, just make a path to the forest!"

"Sir!" Romano nodded. They went to the door and stacked up against it, one man on each side. With subsonic rounds, the suppressors would keep any noise at a minimum, but if they were seen before they fired on their targets, nothing would matter. Motion sensors painted three men right outside the door, before one winked off. A scream pierced the door.

"Now!" Templar hissed.

Romano pulled the door open and Shepard filed out, immediately raising his rifle and firing three groups of two-shots. Shells were flung out of the ejection port, some of them bouncing off the wall of the shack as the Marine exited. Romano followed, scanning as he exited. Templar and Isaaks, bearing the weight of Rolfson followed. The crippled ONI agent held his gun as best he could, but at a crooked angle pointed forward. If he were to fire, his wrist would feel the strain.

They exited into the now very well lit camp. The previously quiet and dark camp was illuminated by powerful lights that appeared out of nowhere. Small drones were now in flight, appearing from hidden perches. This was going to be a bit more interesting.

This time, the crack of the rifle was apparent even over the screaming. A bullet whizzed by the group, cutting into an approaching Tallie rebel. The wall behind him was painted red and he folded at the waist, tumbling forward and into the dirt, finger gripped tightly around his weapon's trigger. The Krinkov barking as it sprayed rounds into the dirt and against the structures around them.

Romano and Shepard cleared the corner with their carbines, satisfied that nobody was there, waved their sergeant forward. Isaaks craned his hear around, wrapping his arm over Rolfson's right shoulder, weapon now perched on the man's shoulder. In the chaos, they hoped that they would slip away.

Romano transferred to the rear, making sure to be the last one to file out. Those rifle reports were bad news and would draw more attention to them. Almost certainly there were more men on the way there now. In extreme danger, he tried to make himself as small a target as possible, crouching near the corner of the makeshift prison. He took his right hand and placed four fingers against the wall. He thrust his thumb out and rested the barrel between the two. Romano waited, anticipating the movement, and sure enough, two men rounded the corner of the building across the dirt road. He pulled the trigger in semi-automatic barks, bullets smacking in the rebels with meaty thumps. The fighters rolled over, one of them still able to roll around, aim his rifle, and squeeze off a few rounds. The bullets ricocheted off the cover Romano was using, forcing the Marine to pull back, running pell-mell into the forest. Before he even cleared the camp, tracers were flinging into the foliage.

Templar pulled Rolfson along through the jungle, leading Isaaks, who was a little sluggish on his feet.

Radio silence was long gone as soon as the bullets started flying. Templar shouted at them to keep moving, his voice straining as they crashed through the alien trees. Sharp prickling leaves of the aponape trees cut at his cheeks, and above, they could hear the shifting of creatures in the treetops. One of which used its tail as a brachiating arm, barbed tongue waving in anticipation of a meal.

"Keep moving!"

One lucky bullet slammed into a soft tree, showering the Marines with sawdust.

Another crack somewhere out in the night. Winston was still covering them. "Shifting position." was all he said over the COM.

They lost track of how long they ran for. Always they looked over their shoulder until they came to a clearing with the same tall grass.

"Break?" Templar offered.

"Yeah." Isaaks said.

Rolfson nodded in agreement, teeth gritted. It was not good on his feet, this run. The two other men had completely supported the crippled commander, who was still gripping the gun in a white-knuckled grip, perhaps a bit tighter than Templar would have liked.

They found a good rock to lower Rolfson onto. The man suppressed a scream as his heel hit against the boulder. Sweat had beaded on the man's head, and his eyes were shut tight. The man reclined immediately and took deep breaths.

Templar stepped back and scanned around with his weapon. They couldn't stay here for long. He checked his watch. Any minute now, _Indomitable_ would be coming up over the horizon.

Isaaks came up to the man, checking on him. "Thanks." he said, looking at the sergeant. "Don't know what they would do to us."

Templar's curiosity got the better of him, which was a dangerous thing in this line of work. "What were they after?"

"Troop movements, like we said."

"Anything in our area?"

Isaaks made eye contact. "Nothing that concerns you. You may have saved our asses, but remember that we outrank you, sergeant."

"Sir." Templar quickly retracted. "I didn't mean to pry, sir; I'm just looking out for my team."

"Yeah, well leave the looking out to us, sergeant. Just follow your orders. You don't need to know all the details, trust me."

"Well, are we in danger, at least?"

Isaaks slowly rose up to his full height and looked Templar square in the eye. "You keep asking for classified intel and you just may be. You saved our lives; I thank you for that, but you ask me one more time to divulge ONI information and your CO gets a write-up about it. Is that understood?"

"Sir." Templar stiffened. "Yes sir."

There was a rustle in the bushes. Everyone turned, weapons drawn. The hunched form of Jeff Winston came from the shadows, rifle slung across his shoulder, finger resting off the trigger guard. His face was dark green in camouflaging paint, and his boonie cap sat tight on his crown. Other than that, he displayed no emotion.

"Am I late to the party?"

"You almost made me shit myself, you scary bastard." Shepard said, half snarling. "How about you come in over COMs?"

"Wasn't aware we were breaking radio silence, Deano. Sergeant." Winston nodded. The man was wise beyond his years. In truth, he almost seemed too old to be a PFC, and the way he spoke cemented this unusual observation. Winston must not have been older than perhaps twenty-eight, nearly ten years older than Templar. What a reversal.

"Thanks for the cover." Templar said.

"Yeah, well, a few stragglers needed to be taken care of. The smart ones stayed hunkered down. The stupid ones tried to go after you. Four hundred meters, wind at five knots, eight gusting from the southeast. I could do that in my sleep. I had a tailwind on that last shot. Gave me a bit of yardage. I actually missed that last shot before taking that into account.

Romano went up to Rolfson to check on the man. Isaaks had returned. After crouching down to look at the injury, he turned back to his NCO. "Hey Chris, you got any peroxide? Got to clean this wound. Looks like some of the picks tore him open.

Templar jogged over, quickly examining Rolfson's wound. It was a small but ragged cut on an already puffy ankle, which suggested it was already broken. This would not do. Each of the Marines did have some rudimentary medical supplies that they took into battle. In one of the sergeant's vest pockets, he retrieved a small bottle the size of a large proscription medical capsule emblazoned 'DISINFECT'. He twisted the cap off and poured some on the ankle wound.

The veins on Rolfson's neck stood out as the ONI agent prevented another scream. He held it down as Templar found a length of dressing from the same pouch. Though he was not trained as a field medic, he knew from a skiing trip from when he was child how to dress a wound by watching his father tend his own cuts and scrapes. A slight pang of sadness replaced by action. He took the dressing and wrapped it three times around the man's exposed ankle, taking a clip and binding it tightly together. That way Rolfson would not pick up an infection, most possibly what the Marines were referring to as 'Bubblejoint'. The ankle would be a juicy target for such an infection.

"There. Navy docs should be able to take care of that."

"Thanks, man." Rolfson said breathily. "Goddamn I hope I don't lose this foot."

"They just broke the ankle. You should be fine. Somewhat."

"Just tell him something, dude." Rolfson said to his colleague. "Anything. They saved my damn foot."

"Are you for real?" Isaaks asked incredulously.

"Just something, anything. A city."

"No." The tall man said.

"Fine, fuck you." Rolfson said. To Templar he said, "You ever hear of Tigrin?"

"Yeah." The sergeant said. "City to the south. Big corporate town for the Talahan Corporation."

"That's it. That's all I'm giving you. Keep your eyes on that place and get your head on a swivel if you ever go in there." Rolfson nodded. "Thanks again, dude. You saved more than my foot. Even he knows it." He nodded towards Isaaks. "You happy with that, Douggie?"

"Not enough for us to get shot, so yeah, I guess I'm happy."

They waited five more minutes before a radio crackled. "3-Charlie-3, Overlord. _Indomitable_ is re-entering AO now and has direct visual. Requesting SITREP."

Templar tapped his helmet COM unit. " _Indomitable,_ 3-Charlie-3, FT-Bravo. Can confirm POIs extracted, in good health and awaiting exfil at my waypoint, reference grid coordinates attached."

"Understood, 3-Charlie-3. Requesting audio confirmation of POIs as secondary."

Isaaks came close to Templar and spoke loud enough for the mic to pick up his baritone, "Commander Douglas Isaaks, ONI Section III. I am in good health."

Rolfson spoke a little louder. "Commander Perry Rolfson, ONI Section III, and I'm still breathing."

"Can Overlord confirm that audio ID?" Templar asked, a little irritated, but masking it.

"Acknowledged. Positive ID confirmed on hostages. Scrambling a bird to your position now as per grid coordinates. ETA ten minutes at flank speed."

"Understood." The sergeant said. "Overlord, Commander Rolfson is wounded and needs immediate medical attention for broken ankles and fractured leg bones. Requesting a medical team on that evac bird for immediate treatment."

"Acknowledged; medevac on the way. Good work, 3-Charlie-3; see you starside. Overlord out."

The COM channel snapped off, and the men were surrounded by the sounds of the alien night. Crickets chirped in the dark, and a nocturnal bird species cooed in the jungle. The stars were twinkling in the sky, with one star in particular moving faster than the others across the dome of night.

"Hey, thanks again." Templar heard Rolfson say from his rock. He was breathing a lot slower now, and he wiped his brow, making him look more relaxed. "I mean it."

"No problem, sir." Templar said.

"To hell with this sir crap. Not tonight, man. Tonight we're equal. Tonight it's just Perry, and tonight it's just Chris. No sir, no ranks or anything like that. That cool with you?"

"Yeah." the sergeant said slowly. "Yeah, that's cool with me."

"A word of advice for you. You want to know the answers. Of course you do. Anybody down here slogging it through the muck and the blood wants to know why the hell they're here and what they're doing. You pull off what you did tonight a few more times and you'll be trading those chevs for bars like there. The more you get, the more you'll learn."

Rolfson raised himself into a sitting position, no longer in any observable pain. "For each bar you get, another piece of that puzzle's going to fill in. The world gets a little bit clearer and the curtain of bullshit parts. You get to see the big picture."

Isaaks spoke, anticipating what would be said next. "The problem is, you might not like the answers you get. Hell, you might hate them. Getting all the answers doesn't get you enlightenment. It gets you doubt, and it gets you less sleep every night over the whole mess. You want these bars, you need to trade a little bit of your soul for it.

"You want to know the scary bit?" Rolfson asked, "I still don't have all the answers. I will never know the big picture. I know only enough to guess - to grab at that cloud of truth and... and speculate. That's what freaks me out - knowing enough to guess, but not enough to really... know..."

Templar's face went blank. He didn't know it at first, but he was now in this position.

Tigrin. The city to the south.

Why was it so important? Why there? More importantly, what?

"The burden of truth. Now you're learning. I don't care what rank's on your shoulder - you earned your first bar tonight in my mind." Rolfson said, glancing at the sky. "Welcome to the club, buddy. It's gonna be a hell of a ride."

A small star had broken away from the far distant _Indomitable_ and was speeding towards them at great velocity.

"Alright guys, let's secure the perimeter." Templar said. "I want to be on that bird inside of thirty seconds. I'll be the last man on."

"You've got it, Sarge." Romano said. "Hey, we kicked some ass tonight."

He clapped his NCO on the shoulder as he began his rounds. Both Shepard and Winston nodded in approval and went to scan the horizon, leaving the young man to stand in the center of the clearing. His mouth had made those noises, but his mind was somewhere else. Chris stood there wondering about that city again, and what the enemy had in mind for it. Was it the UNSC's, or the Tallies that were taking control? So many possibilities, and his mind yearned for explanation even as the dropship's tires touched the soft ground.

Two corpsmen jumped out and gently placed Rolfson on a stretcher, strapping him into place and attaching reading instruments to his skin before sliding him back aboard with Isaaks climbing in back to him. Templar climbed aboard with his own men, not even paying attention as he strapped in as the dropship started to rise. He didn't feel the wind on his face as the rear hatch closed and the craft began a sharp ascent into space. He didn't hear the observations of the corpsmen. He didn't even hear the complements from his subordinates. All he could think about was Tigrin. So vague. So indirect. Just one name had caused him to speculate the course of this war, and even in guessing, he was now unsure of just what would come next.

Then he realized as he looked at his chevrons, that this was just the first trickle of the big picture. There would be more to come yet.


End file.
